


Not quite legal

by TheSingerThatYouWanted (orphan_account)



Category: Nathan Barley (TV)
Genre: Brief appearances from the SugaRape guys, Fluff, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 06:49:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3519482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/TheSingerThatYouWanted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not like it's actually against the law, as such.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not quite legal

**Author's Note:**

> My ability to write long fics seems to have deserted me. Sorry about that. Hopefully this'll make up for the lack of updates in anything else.  
> Also, quick sidenote- I do not know when the word vajazzle was invented, but I also don't care. This is set in an au of 2005 where everything is exactly the same but vajazzling exists. Okay? Good. (Shut up, I get some artistic licence here.)

Not for the first time, Dan Ashcroft found himself cradling his head in his hands and wondering just what the hell he was doing with his life. Despite his best efforts- admittedly he hadn't broken both his legs and spent a month in hospital on purpose, but surely it counted for something- he was still stuck working at SugaRape. Every morning he was greeted with the same cry of "Preacher Maaaaaan!" that he'd been trying to hide from for over a year; at least once a day he was forcibly reminded that not only was Nathan Barley painfully real and not, as he'd hoped, a sleep-deprived hallucination, the wanker was sleeping with Dan's sister. Nothing had changed.  
Well, almost nothing.  
For nearly a full year now Dan had been in a relationship with the ridiculous man he shared a flat with. If he was honest he wasn't entirely sure how it had happened, even though he remembered every detail. The memory of limping home from the hospital, bruises faded but still aching, was still as fresh in his mind as though it had only just happened. He'd pushed open the door a little hesitantly, unsure if he'd still be welcome there, but before he'd even had time to look around Jones had been wrapping him in a hug so tight he'd been unable to breathe. He kept telling Dan that he was sorry, and that he missed him, and that he loved him, over and over again. Dan had stood in shock until he'd finally returned the embrace and whispered "I love you too." There had been tears, though neither of them would admit to that, and apologies, and then Jones had grinned cheekily and found out all the other ways he could take Dan's breath away.  
That was then. Ten months, three weeks, and six days later, and they had settled into a routine so achingly comforting and familiar that Dan didn't know how he'd ever managed without it. It wasn't much- SugaRape was still two bad articles and a taxi ride away from going out of business, and Jones took whatever gigs he could get in order to bring in a little extra money- but the easy affection of lying curled up on the sofa together, of making two cups of coffee in the morning instead of one, was the best thing Dan had ever experienced. He half expected to wake up one day and find out that it had all been a dream.  
A screwed-up ball of paper sailed across the room and hit him on the head, jolting him from his thoughts. He looked up and glared in the direction the shot had come from, to see Ned and Rufus giggling like teenagers and making various rude gestures at nothing in particular. Idiots. Dan sighed heavily and wandered over to the toilets, ignoring whatever nonsense they were calling out and digging his phone from his pocket as he went. He was tired, and bored, and the article he was, for want of a better word, writing- "Should guys vajazzle?", with pictures, no less- was slowly draining his will to live. He needed to make a call before he lost what little was left of his sanity.  
The phone was already dialing as he pulled the door shut behind him and closed over the toilet seat before sitting down. Jones picked up on the fourth ring, just like he always did. He liked the symmetry. His tone, when he spoke, was full of energy and fire, like it always was when he was working on a new track. For a moment Dan felt guilty for interrupting him.  
"Hey, love!" he said, speaking too loudly into the phone so that he could be heard over his own music. "What's up? Idiots wearing on your nerves?"  
Dan smiled bitterly, feeling a little of the tension ease from his shoulders.  
"You could say that."  
"Anything I can do to help?" asked Jones, and Dan heard the electronic beat in the background fade out. "Want me to come over there so we can test out that interior design you was telling me about?"  
Dan could hear the cocky grin in the younger man's voice, and looked around with a low chuckle. A few days previously he'd been telling Jones about Jonatton Yeah?'s bright idea to soundproof the office toilets. He said it was to give the impression that they were always having quickies in the loos, or something like that. Dan just thought it was stupid. He prodded at the foamy insulation with his foot and ran a hand through his hair as he replied.  
"Tempting, but to be honest I'd rather just go home. It's too warm in here, and this article's a piece of shit."  
"I did offer to come in and model for you."  
Dan laughed, and a small part of him marveled at Jones' ability to cheer him up so easily.  
"Thanks, but you'd probably end up giving me a hard-on and Jonatton a heart attack. Enjoyable as that would be, I need this fucking job."  
"Alright, but you don't know what you're missing," teased Jones. "Come on home then. I'll meet you, I've been stuck in here all day and there's some stuff I need to pick up from the shops."  
Dan swallowed and nodded, already calculating the best way to get out of the building without getting ambushed by one of his coworkers. He was reasonably sure that if he timed it for when Sasha was walking past he'd be able to sneak out while the others ogled. You had to feel sorry for her, really.  
"See you soon," he told Jones. "Love you."  
"Love you too," replied the DJ, and Dan knew that he was smiling as he hung up. Slipping the phone back into his pocket, Dan looked around quickly before hurrying across the office. He had one hand on the door before he heard the dreaded cry of "Oi, Ashcroft! Where you off to, you crazy knob?"  
"Piss off, Barley," he replied, and was out the door and round a corner before Nathan had a chance to see where he was.  
The weather outside was warm, and for the first time that year Dan was glad he'd only picked up a thin jacket. A few stray clouds skittered across the sky, casting occasional shadows on the cracked tarmac beneath his feet as he walked. It was almost spring- not the typical British spring full of rain showers and winds that could cut you in two, but proper spring, the kind with sun and picnics and baby animals running around everywhere. Dan was looking forward to it. Jones got more gigs when it was warmer, meaning he'd be having fun and bringing more money in, and Dan was pretty sure SugaRape would go down before then. If he played it right he could probably convince some insurance company to compensate him for the years of abuse and mild slander he'd endured. Maybe they could go on holiday, or just lie in the house and fuck in the sunlight for days on end. Dan didn't really mind which.  
It was these thoughts which were occupying his mind when he rounded a corner and almost ran into Jones. The younger man, who had the edge of a small carrier bag poking out of his pocket, beamed when he saw him.  
"Alright?" he said with a grin, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Dan's mouth before bouncing away. He was moving to some beat that was trapped inside his head, the sunlight illuminating the multicoloured highlights in his hair, and Dan smiled.  
"I am now," he replied, sharply aware of how cliche that sounded but past the point of caring. "What's the tune?"  
"I can't win," replied Jones immediately, falling into step beside Dan as they walked home. "You know- the Strokes? It's been stuck in my head all day. It's sunny, you know?"  
Dan nodded, though he didn't really understand. Jones seemed to connect to music in a way that was completely different from most people, and Dan was more than happy to watch and listen as he tried to explain. Sound seemed to make him come to life in a way that few other things did. The only things Dan could think of that equaled it were bright colours, like fresh paint, and of course that one particular trick that Dan could do with his tongue. He breathed deeply, the faint scent of Jones' collection of hair products mixing with petrol fumes and cut grass and spray paint in a strange cocktail. If Dan had to describe that day, those would be the first things he named. For him the smell would always be an integral part of the memory.  
"What have you been up to today?" he asked. Jones seemed suddenly hesitant.  
"Oh, not much. Sat on my arse mostly, reworking a couple of old mixes. Did a bit of painting."  
"Is that what I can smell? If you've gassed the flat..."  
"Nah, I left the windows open and sprayed a bit of Febreeze around before I left. It'll be fine."  
Dan nodded and changed the subject, telling Jones in great- and occasionally exaggerated- detail about the photographs people had sent in for the article, which ranged from hilarious to outright traumatising. Both men were laughing by the time they reached the flat.  
True to his word, Jones had actually cleaned up a bit. A faint citrus smell still hung in the air, but the air freshener had driven the acrid scent of spray paint away. The door to the living room was tight shut, which struck Dan as odd, but Jones steered him into the kitchen before he had a chance to ask why.  
"Stick the kettle on, will you?" asked Jones, sounding a little nervous. Dan peered at him in confusion for a second, but nodded and agreed. He was probably just eager to get back to his decks or something, he thought, and sure enough Jones squeezed his hand before vanishing into the living room. The door was shut again before Dan had a chance to glance inside.  
As the kettle gurgled and boiled, music blared into life from the next room. It sounded slower than Jones' usual racket, more measured. Dan recognised snippets of other songs woven throughout it- something by Pulp, and a vaguely orchestral piece that he knew from somewhere layered on top. The smell of grass wafted through the window, caught in a chance breeze, and Dan smiled. This was something he could get used to.  
"Dan?"  
"Yeah, love?"  
"Could you, uh, come here a minute?"  
Dan set down the mugs he'd been holding and wandered through, hesitating at the door before pushing through towards the sound of the younger man's voice. The smell of paint was stronger here, and as he looked up he saw why.  
It took him a few seconds to process what he was seeing. Painted across one wall, just above Jones' decks, were two words, in a whole rainbow of bright colours. Somehow the two simple words looked like art, decorated as they were with musical notes and swirls and shapes, but it was what they said rather than how they looked that caused a lump to rise in Dan's throat.  
 _Marry me?_  
It was several seconds before he could speak, directing his words at Jones, who was bent on one knee in the middle of the room, but unable to tear his gaze from the sign.  
"Are we criminals now?" he managed eventually, a smile spreading across his face. Jones jumped to his feet and moved closer, words tumbling from his lips in a confused rush as he tried to explain.  
"I know it's not allowed, you berk, I'm not stupid, but I figured... well, there's no laws against us bein' engaged, is there?" he explained, holding out a small red box with twin gold rings in it. His blue eyes were shining, wide with fear and anticipation. Dan reached down, fingers hovering over the box like he was afraid to touch it. Jones lifted one of the rings and held it up for Dan to slide his finger into. The metal was surprisingly warm against his skin, and somehow that brought home to him the reality of what was happening. He grabbed Jones tightly, pulling him close and crushing his face against the younger man's shoulder.  
"Yes, yes- fuck, Jones, you're insane."  
Jones practically sobbed with relief, kissing Dan with a fierce intensity. He moaned against it, never wanting the heady feeling to stop.  
"You mean it?" Jones kept whispering against his lips. "You really mean it?"  
"Of course. Always- forever- as long as it takes."  
The sentences were as fractured and scattered as his thoughts, whirling into the void, hovering out of reach. All that mattered was Jones- the thought that one day he might be able to call the DJ his husband sent Dan into another wave of stunned joy- Jones, who was kissing him and laughing and grinding against him, Jones, who was made of sunshine and noise and wonderful madness, Jones, his Jones.  
"This might have to be the longest engagement in history," teased Dan when eventually they both came up for air. Jones shook his head.  
"Times are changing. Less than ten years, I bet you anything."  
"Ten's still a while."  
"And I'll happily spend it here with you, you daft git," replied Jones, kissing Dan's neck in a way that made his breath stutter and catch in his throat. "Ten years until I get to see you all dressed up in your best suit, waiting for me at some altar. Promise."  
Dan didn't have the words to reply, so he just kissed him again, slow and lazy. After all, he had all the time in the world to do so. Jones groaned and rubbed the bulging fabric of his jeans against Dan's hip. Dan knew him well enough to take a hint and scooped the younger man up, bridal style, with a smirk. Jones laughed and looped his arms around the taller man's neck to steady himself.  
"Well, Mr Jones," he said quietly. "Or should I start getting used to calling you Mr Ashcroft?"  
Jones swatted playfully at his arm.  
"Shut up, I ain't changing my name for no-one. You know I'm yours anyway."  
Dan chuckled.  
"That's true. And I'm yours, too. So... shall we consummate the engagement?"  
Laughter bubbled from Jones' lips as he slid the other ring onto his finger, admiring the way they matched.  
"Mr Ashcroft- Mr Jones?- I thought you'd never ask."

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is 100% guaranteed to make me squeak and flail a little bit, regardless of whether or not I'm in public. It's almost embarrassing. And no, these characters don't belong to me. Not even a little bit.


End file.
